All I Can Talk About
by apromptdisregarded
Summary: Post Mockingjay, Pre Epilogue. A tiny, fluffy, Everlark oneshot inspired by the song "My Girl" by the Temptations.


**Here's a tiny, fluffy, Everlark oneshot inspired by the Temptation's song "My Girl."**

 **Post Mockingjay, Pre Epilogue.**

 ** _italics_ = lyrics that I DON'T OWN**

 **Suggestion for reading: listen to "My Girl" by the Temptations (it's on youtube) on repeat while you read; it adds to the effect ;)**

 **Disclaimer: Mama Collins owns it all, and Temptations forever.**

 **Best wishes,**

 **Apromptdisregarded.**

* * *

 _I've got sunshine,_

 _On a cloudy day._

A constant pulsation drives me from a placid sleep.

 _When it's cold outside,_

The cool side of the mattress tells me I'm alone in our bed, but the steady throb is coming from downstairs; I can feel vibrations rolling through the house that I've never heard before.

 _I've got the month of May._

The heals of my feet creek against the hardwood floor, but I rise from the sheets out of curiosity, in a woven robe, and nothing else.

 _I guess you'd say,_

 _"What can make me feel this way?"_

My legs pad to the doorway unconsciously, poised at the top of our stairs while my toes dangle out over the first step.

They're tapping an seemingly irregular rhythm, but it matches up to what I hear, the sounds I'm quite positive are coming from the kitchen.

 _My Girl._

My mind finds the name of it with ease;

Music.

We haven't heard it in years, and even then, it's been nothing like this; there's such a specific tone to what seems to be invading me now. Nothing like my singing voice, or the ballroom music from the Victory Tour so long ago, or even the lighthearted jigs I associate so heavily with the Seam.

 _Talkin' 'bout my girl._

We have a music player, of course. Every Victor's home is provided one, with every song imaginable on it, even some from before the Dark Days. But I've never laid a finger on the device myself.

 _I've got so much honey the bees envy me._

 **This morning must be an especially happy one** , I think.

I now realize it must be Peeta downstairs, causing such odd music to reverberate through our floorboards.

 _I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees._

I can detect trumpets in the background by the time I'm down the stairs.

 _Well, I guess you'd say,_

 _"What can make me feel this way?"_

When my eyes turn the corner, I'm drawn to his swaying shoulders, the way his hips shift to that immaculate rhythm. He's kneading a pound of dough, probably for cheese buns, with his back turned. But with the way he rocks his spine, I can see in a shift of his neck that he's mouthing the words.

 _My girl._

 _My girl._

 _My girl._

Peeta must hear me chuckling behind him, because he turns abruptly on his prosthetic, his lips caught upward in a smirk. I think my presence is about to trip up his lip syncing, but he's ready for me.

 _Talkin' 'bout my girl._

 _My girl._

His muscles ripple to the song's palpitations, and his left hand extends its pointer finger to me, then gestures back toward his strutting form.

 _Hey hey hey._

 _Hey hey hey._

Suddenly there's a wooden spoon in his hand, and he's using it as a microphone. Our hips connect, our abdomens touch, grazing each other.

 _Ooooh, Yeah._

 _I don't need no money, fortune or fame._

I notice that his biceps are powdery with leftover flour.

 _I've got all the riches, baby, one man can claim._

We're both laughing now, more genuinely than we have in years.

 _Well, I guess you'd say,_

 _"What can make me feel this way?"_

We move in unison, rocking like a wave to a melody that seizes our bodies by the eardrums. I make his forehead meet mine, and he holds his hand at my waist to keep me steady.

 _My girl._

 _My girl._

 _My girl._

 _Talkin' 'bout my girl._

 _My girl._

I feel the vibration of the spoon hitting the tile floor.

 _I've got sunshine on a cloudy day_

 _With my girl._

My hand crawls upwards and attaches itself to his face.

 _I've even got the month of May_

 _With my girl._

I smell the cinnamon and dill on his skin that I will never truly forget.

 _Talkin' 'bout_

 _Talkin' 'bout_

 _Talkin' 'bout_

 _My girl._

A familiar hunger takes hold in my pores, and I feel the fire, the ceaseless longing, burning white-hot inside of me.

 _Ooooh_

 _My girl._

Our lips connect,

And I never want to let go.

 _ **"That's all I can talk about, is my girl."**_

* * *

 **I hope you liked it! Thanks fr reading and remember to comment!**

 **Best wishes,**

 **Apromptdisregarded.**


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